


The Carpal Tunnel of Love

by flashindie



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 22:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21022919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashindie/pseuds/flashindie
Summary: “Thought you weren’t here to play?”His voice is little more than a purr, and Beth hates that she’s this red, that she feels this hot, her nerves prickling beneath her skin, hates that she loves the way he sounds like this, hates the way she loves the way he’s looking at her, his eyes dancing, just plain hates the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips, just - -“I’m not,” she says, yanking her wrist out of his grip - - or, trying to. He doesn’t let her right away, just holds her, easily as anything, like it’s not even hard to keep her there against him until the third time she yanks, when he lets her go. She practically stumbles back, hands going back to clutch her purse to her chest, like it can hide how deeply flushed it is over the neck of her blouse. She glares at him. “Believe it or not, this isn’t my idea of a good time.”- -Set post 2.06. Beth and Rio do a job.





	The Carpal Tunnel of Love

**Author's Note:**

> For the dialogue prompt: #5 "It’s only 2 A.M.” / #80 "This isn't my idea of a good time"

Pulling her gaze away from the tiny digital clock set back into the car’s dashboard, Beth sighs before she can stop herself, the sound stark in the otherwise eerie quiet of the car. It’s enough to earn her yet another sideways glance from Rio, his eyebrow raised, his long, deceptively slender arm still draped over the steering wheel, even though they’ve been parked for longer than Beth cares to think about.

“Anythin’ I can help you with there, darlin’?”

His voice is little more than a lazy drawl, and Beth feels a heat rush to her face as she hears the pointed statement underneath it – _you begged to come_, and okay, she hadn’t _begged_, despite what he’d told her the first time she’d sighed an hour ago. She’d - -

She’d _asked_, that was all.

In fact, she thinks, sitting up a little taller, crossing her legs, she’d demanded it. Because they were partners now, dammit, and he couldn’t just make vague allusions to dealing with a long-term buyer _who_ was _in need of a talkin’ to_ (about _what_, she still has no idea) and expect her to stay at home twiddling her thumbs.

“Oh, I’m just wondering when you decided to start practicing patience,” she says, tone sickly sweet, pointedly looking at the clock again, and Rio follows her gaze lazily back towards it, holding there for a moment, as if taking in the time, before snapping back to her.

He arches an eyebrow, flicks his hand up slightly at the steering wheel, as casually as if they were talking about - - well, the time, which they _are, _but that’s not the _point_. 

“It’s only 2am.”

“And you picked me up at 10,” she says quickly, and maybe it was closer to 11, but whatever. _This_ point stands. They’ve been sitting in this car, watching this bleak, narrow building for the better half of four hours, and Beth is tired of breathing in stale air (thick, now, with the smell of him), and her butt is sore from sitting too long, and her eyes are heavy because it’s _2am _and she’s a mother of four and now the manager of a car dealership and partner in a criminal enterprise and - - and she opens her mouth to say something along those lines, when Rio turns a weighted gaze towards her, pulling up a shoulder.

“Yeah, well maybe I been missin’ you.”

The way he says it is just loaded enough that her breath hitches, and she stares at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious or making fun of her or seriously making fun of her. Because the thing is, they _haven’t _seen a lot of each other recently. Only a few tense meetings and drops and odd jobs since she’d robbed him and strongarmed herself this deal, since she saw him with - - since _they_ \- -

Her gaze never leaves his, and she sees it, his eyes glance down to her heaving chest, and god, why is she _breathing _that hard? So she scoffs. Her head lolling back, neck jerking in a dramatic show of disbelief, and she hates the way her heart stutters when she sees him smother a grin.

“You haven’t even told me who we’re meeting with,” she says quickly, changing the topic and looking back towards the building. _Or where the hell they even are_, she adds in her head. There have been people coming in and out all night – a strange mix of mostly men – some older, schlubby in stained grey t-shirts stepping out back to smoke, others around her age, with neatly trimmed goatees and slick hair talking loudly on cell phones, and others again, younger, well-built, strutting around behind the back wall in tank tops despite the cool.

“One of our clients,” Rio tells her. “He buys big from us normally, but he’s been slowin’ down, and I know for a fact that his demand ain’t.”

Beth blinks, glancing back to him with a frown.

“So what does that mean?”

“Means at best he’s misunderstood the exclusivity clause in our contract,” and his voice is harsh as he says it, unamused at even the prospect, and god, Beth didn’t even know that he - - _they_ expected exclusivity from their clients.

“Or?” she asks, and Rio blinks over at her, seems to debate whether or not to keep talking, or what to tell her. In the end, he seems to (she hopes) settle on honesty.

“Or he’s cuttin’ our pills with somethin’ else to make ‘em go further.”

“And so we lose money?”

Rio nods, gaze shifting back towards the building, jaw clenching at the back a little, like he’s chewing over Beth’s words, over the prospect in them, and she knows how much he cares about returns on his investments, what a - - god, she thinks with a snort - - _diligent _debt collector he is. Still, she’s surprised when he adds:

“Not just that though. It undermines the rep of our business, our product, especially if he’s talkin’ up a big game.”

It takes Beth a moment to turn it over, to fully process the implication of what he’s saying, and her surprise is promptly chased by annoyance at herself for her surprise in the first place. She _knows _what pride Rio takes in his product – in the calibre and the quality of his cash. Why wouldn’t that extend to his pills too?

_Their _pills, she reminds herself.

She grabs her own hand in her lap, twists at her fingers a little, before she catches him looking and promptly drops them. She smooths them over her jeans instead.

“Didn’t think _talking _was something you’d put up with,” she says, aiming for a joke, but it comes out sharp, even to her own ears. Still – Rio doesn’t seem fazed.

“Depends,” he replies easily, shifting a bit in his seat. He drums his fingers lightly over the steering wheel. “Sometimes a client talkin’ is a good way to move product. Make new connections, that sorta thing.”

“Word of mouth marketing,” she says a little dryly, and Rio looks at her out of the corner of his eye, lips twisting up in amusement. 

“Learn that at college?”

“From the guys who made the new Boland Motors ad,” she confesses with a grin, a little bashful, and Rio smiles at her, breathes out a laugh, like he’s remembering the ad, and okay, so it’s a _little_ cheesy, but she didn’t think it was _that _funny. She opens her mouth to say that to him when Rio suddenly sits forwards in his seat, attentively watching as another man steps out of the building.

“That him?” Beth asks, squinting a little to better see him, and she’s not sure what she expected, but it wasn’t this weedy-looking guy, probably about Rio’s age, with a goatee and what are pretty obviously hair plugs (Beth’s seen enough of them over the years – tagging along to car expos with Dean – to recognise them instantly). Rio nods sharply, watching the guy walk out across the carpark, pressing the clicker of his car keys to a shiny, showy Ferrari, and for a second, Beth thinks the guy might be talking to himself, but then he taps his ear, and she sees the little shock of white of an air pod.

She sits up a little taller, already feeling the familiar spike in adrenaline.

“Are we going to talk to him?”

And she’s expecting a sharp nod – is expecting a - - she doesn’t know, but there’s a coil of excitement in her belly at the prospect of being the one beside him, not in front of him for one of these sorts of interactions, and sure, his boys aren’t here, but she figures that must mean he really is treating this - - _her _seriously, and - -

“Nah, this is strictly recon,” Rio tells her suddenly, waiting for the guy to climb into his own car and pull out of the carpark before pushing open his own door. “Need to work out what we’re dealin’ with. You stay here, yeah?”

And just - -

_What?_

“Rio –” she starts, but he cuts her off with a wave of his hand as he slips out the door.

“Trust me, you don’t wanna go in there. You can play lookout or whatever.”

With that, he closes the door behind him, effectively dismissing her, and Beth gapes, her adrenaline spiking in a whole _different _way as she scrambles out of the passenger seat, out into the cool nip of the nighttime air.

“Last time I trusted you, you made a point out of telling me not to,” she bites, closing the door behind her and smoothing down her blouse. “Besides, I haven’t waited in your car for almost _four hours_ to _play _anything.” 

It’s enough to make him snort, but he holds her gaze, seeming to take her in, try to unpack her in that way he does, in the way that makes her set her shoulders and her stomach clench, before finally shaking his head. He buries his hands in the pockets of his jacket, shrugs at her.

“Okay, but don’t _play_ like I didn’t warn you when we in there, yeah?”

Beth rolls her eyes, but starts towards the building, her stride long and firm and if it were anyone else, they’d struggle to keep up, but Rio seems to almost materialise at her side, to match her pace too perfectly too quickly. She clutches her purse a little tighter to herself, tips her chin up, trying to project as much confidence and certainty as she can despite the little voice in the back of her head telling her she has no idea what she’s stepping into, and the even sharper one telling her that Rio is walking way, way closer to her side than he needs to and just - - _god_.

Why can she still smell him?

She hates that she can smell him.

The door cracks open to the building, and Beth sucks in a breath, expecting - - well, she’s not sure what she’s expecting, but it’s probably not a tidy little foyer with a glass coffee table, loud, red leather sofa and a framed, blown up poster of a pouting blonde in a barely-there bikini. Top forty hits play a little too loudly on the stereo – Katy Perry and Fifth Harmony, and Beth reels her head around to a gaudy receptionist desk, a girl who can’t be older than twenty-five, bleach blonde with pointed, lacquered nails, bopping her head, mouth moving in time with the music, sitting behind it. She types something – her artificial nails clacking on the computer keys.

It’s enough to make Beth blink, pause, take half a step back, because what sort of building has this sort of receptionist at _2am_, but then Rio’s hand finds her lower back (making every nerve ending there spark) and he’s guiding her down towards the receptionist’s desk.

Whether she sees the movement or hears their steps, Beth has no idea, but by the time they’re standing in front of her desk, the woman blinks up at them and just - - god, does she have diamantes in her fake eyelashes? She might think more of it if it wasn’t for the way the girl casts little more than a cursory, appreciative glance over Rio before turning curiously to Beth. The look is distinctly - - and judgemental isn’t the right word, Beth thinks, feeling her chest flush, feeling herself shift her weight between her legs – appraising, maybe? Like how she’s seen customers look at cars.

Finally, the woman’s gaze drops to Beth’s breasts, and her review seems to be done.

“You here for casting?”

Whatever that means, it’s enough to make Rio bark on a laugh beside her, Beth’s head spinning around so that her gaze finds him. There’s genuine mirth in his eyes, the crow’s feet beside them wrinkling, his mouth split wide in a grin, and something about it – about him, makes something in her lurch. The moment’s gone too quickly though, and Rio shakes his head.

“Nuh, just got some business with Ned.”

“He just - - ”

“Popped out, yeah, we ran into him in the carpark. He said we could wait in his office?”

He drawls it with a faux laziness, a make-believe ease that Beth can instantly hear through, and Beth glances back at the receptionist, at the way she seems to take in the words, her lips pursing a little uncertainly. Her gaze lowers from Rio’s face to his neck tattoo, to his black t-shirt, his bomber jacket, which at least hides the gun handle Beth knows is sticking out the side of his jeans.

“I might give him a quick call,” the receptionist says slowly. “Just to confirm.”

And god, if she does, this recon adventure will be over before it’s even begun, and Beth’s head is reeling through options when she sees Rio’s arm move back, reaching for his gun, and does he _seriously_ think that’s a solution for everything? Beth laughs suddenly, a little too loud, latching onto his arm, yanking it roughly and forcing his hand into hers, entwining their fingers so hard it’s basically a death grip.

“Business,” Beth says, voice high and girlish, tightening her grip on his hand in a way she hopes says _play along_. “Honey, what are you talking about?”

It’s enough to make Rio give her a tight, pissed off look, and whatever, Beth thinks, flashing him a winning smile before turning back to the receptionist.

“I mean, sure, us and Ned, we _did _work together, back in the day, but that was like, a hundred years ago.”

She waves her free hand around, bouncing a little on her toes in a way she hopes is light and coy.

“_You _used to work with Ned,” the receptionist repeats, her gaze flicking down to Beth’s floral-blouse-covered-chest again, and right, Beth thinks, resisting the urge to look back at the poster. He must be a photographer or something, probably a swimsuit photographer, and - - she can play that.

“Mmhmm,” Beth hums, nodding, thrusting her chest out just a little, and Rio seems to almost simmer beside her, his fingers returning her death grip now, so much it almost hurts, but the ache there just makes her turn her nails in, digging into the skin beneath his knuckles. “For _years_. I mean, one of the best professional relationships of my life. And personal too of course. _Our _lives. I mean, we met –”

She flounders briefly, because she still doesn’t even know what it is Ned actually does or even where they are, not _really_, and she’s grateful when Rio suddenly chimes in beside her. 

“On one of Ned’s sets. Guy basically played matchmaker when he,” his jaw twitches in amusement. “Cast us. We were just in the neighbourhood, thought we’d swing through, say hi, you know.”

It’s enough to make the receptionist lean back in her chair, take them in all over again.

“You two…” she says, gesturing, and Beth nods, because sure – why not? If she hadn’t had kids, her and Rio could’ve modelled together or whatever. Maybe? Probably not, but still. Too late to change the story now.

She feels more than sees Rio shift his attention enough to stare at her, a certain heat in his gaze that feels _entirely _out of place, or maybe not, because she can’t say she doesn’t feel a little hot too, the image of him – shirtless, all lean, leonine strength, his chest glistening in the sun, on a beach, pressing against her in the ocean, their legs tangling together - - and _god_, what is _wrong _with her? She clears her throat.

“Must’ve been pretty niche,” the receptionist says, looking them both over, and then she smiles, a bit of a flush to her cheeks when she adds: “You know what actually? I can see it.”

Rio hums and Beth smiles, watching as the girl suddenly stands up, jerking her head down the hallway.

“You can come through, but honestly, I’m not sure when Ned’ll be back. He’s sort of - -”

“Unpredictable?” Beth says, like she knows anything about the guy, but the receptionist laughs, nodding as she leads them down through the closed, frosted glass doors, down the long, narrow hallway, and up a flight of stairs. They dodge a few people on their way, loud chattering masses, a few women dashing past who she might not have even noticed if not for the smell of their hairspray and the cute silk robes that she wants in her closet. Still, sooner rather than later, they’re in front of a small office, and the receptionist unlocks the door, gesturing them inside.

Rio disentangles his hand from Beth’s grip quickly, walking through, and Beth moves to follow only to have the girl lean suddenly in.

“I think I’m gonna have to get Ned to send me some links,” the girl stage whispers to her. “I mean, I was getting a little hot and you guys weren’t even _on_.”

She winks as she turns around and heads out of the office and Beth flushes a little as she closes the door behind her but she’s - - not entirely sure why. It’s enough to make her look at Rio – who’s smothering a grin as he looks around the office, pointedly avoiding her gaze. And that’s not fair. She feels like she deserves _some _credit right now. So she says:

“What would you do without me?” with a little grin, tilting her chin up, and Rio does look at her then, his amusement only slightly tinged with exasperation as he moves behind Ned’s desk and starts shuffling through the papers, turning over pencil holders, opening up a cigar case, pawing through Ned’s things.

“My way would’ve got us in here too.”

“_Your _way would’ve had her calling security,” Beth sniffs. “Or worse – the _police_.”

It’s enough to make him roll his eyes, and Beth glances around the room, taking it in. It’s not unlike the foyer stylistically – another leather sofa (black this time) propped in the corner, a wooden desk, a large, green fern in a dark pot. There are some shelves on one side of the room, a filing cabinet beside a display case with what seem to be awards on the other, and between them, behind the desk, another poster, this one of - - Beth blinks.

Almost as if on cue – a soundtrack to her dawning realisation – a long, guttural moan sounds through the wall. Her head reels around, wide, wild-eyed to stare at Rio, as the pieces fall into place.

“_Are they making a porno?” _

And god, the look on her face must be something else, because Rio looks up at her and immediately _laughs_.

“Damn, ma, you only just realisin’? Ain’t you always tellin’ me how perceptive you are and shit?”

Beth scowls at him – or tries to – she’s pretty sure the look of complete and utter horror on her face is never going to wear off. She feels suddenly too hot, her skin prickling, her hands trembling as a series of macho grunts sound through the wall too, and just - - her eyes slip shut in mortification.

“I thought he was like a - - a swimsuit photographer or something.”

It’s enough to make Rio laugh again, shaking his head as he closes the drawer he’d been rifling through, immediately turning around to pull up the corner of the pornographic poster on the wall and grope behind the frame for any sort of key or pill packet or whatever it is he’s looking for. Beth watches him move, the shift of his back, the course of his hands, and she flushes all over again.

“Oh my god, did I just tell that girl that we were - - ”

“_Actors_,” he says, and she can’t even see his face but she knows he’s grinning all over again. “Yeah.”

“And that we - - made - - together - - ”

God, she feels like her brain is short circuiting. She clutches desperately at the strap of her purse, trying to focus on anything except the sounds coming through the wall and the picture of two nude women, one with her legs spread, the other at her back, teeth pulling at the other woman’s earlobe – that Rio is searching behind.

“They work for us?” she asks, her voice high pitched, because it’s all she can think of to say, and Rio shakes his head.

“They buy from us,” he tells her, glancing around, and there must be a look on her face still, because he rolls his eyes as he grins, almost - - almost _affectionately_ at her. “Don’t worry, mama, your virtue’s still intact, yeah? You just in pharmaceuticals and money laundering, not sex work.”

And that’s not fair – that’s not what she’s worried about, or why she suddenly feels like she’s on fire. She doesn’t think she’s _better _than this, she just - - she doesn’t know what she thinks.

“There is nothing wrong with sex work,” she says though, because there’s not, and she’s read _articles, _dammit. “As long as it’s respectful and consensual and everyone is _safe_ and - - wait, what do they buy off us?”

“Performance enhancers mostly,” Rio says with a shrug, moving towards the shelves nearest to her and starting to grope around behind the books and magazines. “PrEP and birth control too. Sometimes antibiotics and shit.”

At Beth’s look, Rio arches an eyebrow at her.

“You sorted the pills, darlin’. Who you think was buying that much Viagra?”

Beth gapes, waving the hand not still clutching at her handbag strap in the air between them, her blush deepening when a woman screams _yes _next door.

“I don’t know! Like - - older - - _gentlemen_. Or something.”

Rio just hums, biting back a grin.

“Mmm, like your husband,” he concurs, faux sympathetic, and well, at least that’s enough to make her stare at him.

“Very mature,” she says with a huff. “You want me to set up a date so you two can compare sizes too?”

“Nah, no need,” at her look, he adds. “I been inside you, baby, you _way _too tight to be fuckin’ anythin’ as big as me on the regular.”

It takes all her power to not spontaneously combust right there, her arm pulling back quickly to slap him, her body jittery with energy, red with mortification, and it’s only somehow _worse _when he grabs her wrist before her hand can make contact with him, laughing, pulling her roughly towards him.

“Thought you weren’t here to play?”

His voice is little more than a purr, and Beth hates that she’s this red, that she feels this _hot_, her nerves prickling beneath her skin, hates that she loves the way he sounds like this, hates the way she loves the way he’s looking at her, his eyes dancing, just plain hates the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips, just - -

“I’m not,” she says, yanking her wrist out of his grip - - or, _trying _to. He doesn’t let her right away, just holds her, easily as anything, like it’s not even hard to keep her there against him until the third time she yanks, when he lets her go. She practically stumbles back, hands going back to clutch her purse to her chest, like it can hide how deeply flushed it is over the neck of her blouse. She glares at him. “Believe it or not, this isn’t my idea of a good time.”

And he laughs at that, like he doesn’t believe her at _all_, and Beth turns on her heel, walking over to the cabinets on the other side of the room and great, she thinks, all the trophies are shaped like _penises_ and have been awarded for things like _Best BDSM _and _Best Spanking _which just makes her think of Rio’s hands and how they might feel - - and _no_, Beth, god. She’d really like the ground to swallow her whole right now.

“What are we even looking for anyway?” she asks, her flush deepening when another moan echoes through the wall, and it’s - - it’s not just the moaning, it’s the smack of skin against skin, of thrusting, and then she’s bent over that sink again, Rio pushing into her from behind, and - - Jesus. Even her _hands _are red.

“My pills,” he says, and Beth frowns.

“_Our _pills,” she corrects, because at least if they’re talking about that she’s not thinking about where they are or how hot this room is or the fact that her wrist still burns with his touch. Rio doesn’t reply though, and so Beth distracts herself rifling through the display case before moving over to the filing cabinet, looking through the top two drawers before crouching down to the bottom, yanking it open and - -

“Found them.”

Her voice is strained, even to her own ears, because there they are, in the back of the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, still in the (now-open) airbag, beside a crusty-lidded tube of lube and a way, way too realistic looking flesh light. Beth tries to swallow her gag, and Rio’s suddenly beside her, a noise sounding from the back of his throat that she’s never heard before – something she can only describe as repulsed, and at least it’s not just her.

He grabs the bag out though anyway, moving towards the desk and dropping it there. He rifles through them, pulling out a couple of pills and looking at their serial numbers. He huffs out a pissed off breath, before looking back at her.

“Got your phone?”

Beth nods, pulling it out of the back pocket of her jeans.

“Write in the number,” he tells her, and promptly rattles off the serial. Typing it into her notes app, Beth frowns.

“That’s not one of ours,” she says, and when she looks up from her phone, Rio’s staring back at her, his eyes fixed on her in a way she can’t entirely read, and she thinks maybe he’s impressed, or maybe - - maybe she’s wrong? And it is one of theirs? She opens her mouth to reply, but Rio cuts her off.

“Nah, it ain’t,” he agrees, and right, Beth thinks, tilting her chin up, a little more proudly than she’d care to admit. Still, he doesn’t seem pleased with the news that the pills aren’t theirs, when - - wait.

“Wasn’t that the best-case scenario?”

The words are enough to make him hum, dropping the pill back into the bag and walking it over to the drawer. He drops that in too, back beside the lube and the fleshlight, before kicking the drawer shut in either disgust or anger or some combination of both, she’s not quite sure. 

“Even the best-case scenario ain’t ideal. He’s tryna play us.”

Beth frowns, her forehead creasing as she watches Rio pace back a little bit, his face darkening at the prospect, and was this how he looked all those times with her? When she robbed the grocery store? When she got him arrested? When he found out she’d taken his pills? And maybe it was the first time, she thinks, but it’s different now, his anger with her is different, and she’s not sure why that sparks something deep in her belly.

She clears her throat.

“So now what?” she asks, and Rio rolls his shoulders, loosening them up.

“Now my boys find out who that number belongs to and me and whoever that is, we have a little chat.”

“And me,” Beth insists, and Rio looks at her then, eyebrows raised in disbelief, his lips parted.

“It really ain’t your department, mama.”

And that’s not fair at _all_. She’s the one who got him to partner with her, she’s the one who got them in here tonight, she’s even the one who found the pills. She stands up a little straighter, shoulders back, chin up, opens her mouth to retort when a series of loud, hiccupping moans sound through the wall followed by a grunting _yeah, fuckin’ take it_, and Beth’s immediately crimson again.

“Oh my god, does all porn make it seem like sex goes on for this long?” she says, exasperated by her own mortification now, and it’s enough to make Rio grin, make him shrug again, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket.

“Ain’t been that long.”

“Please,” she says rolling her eyes, and when he pops an eyebrow at her, Beth’s flush deepens, but she stands firm. “It’s not like we - - you - - it’s not like it took _that _long.”

And if she didn’t know any better, she’d think Rio looked a little insulted by the insinuation. As it is, he just shakes his head at her, eyes drifting over her, appraising her in a not dissimilar way to the receptionist earlier, and Beth has to resist the urge to fold her arms over her chest.

“Nah, that was _all_ circumstance, darlin’, trust me,” he says, his voice little more than a gravelly purr. “When I got time, I like to take it.”

And just - - god, the way he _looks _at her, the way he sucks in his lower lip, the way he - - Beth shivers, feels heat pool low in her, but she refuses to blink, refuses to pull her gaze from him, and if she was capable of forming words she might say something like _fuck off _or _prove it _or _yes please_, but then that just sounds like an invitation to disaster again.

The moment is broken when somebody in the next room finally climaxes, and Beth finally lets herself blink (breathe, think, all of it really). She coughs, shoving her phone back into the pocket of her jeans and walking jerkily towards the door, ignoring Rio’s soft laugh behind her as best she can. They make it down the hallway, Beth making a quick apology to the receptionist on their way out – _we really thought Ned would be back a little sooner, and the sitter just called_ (the girl makes a cooing statement about beautiful caramel babies which Beth thinks is more than a little inappropriate) – and make it back to Rio’s car.

They’ve barely gotten in when Beth pulls her hand sanitiser out of her bag, uncaps it, and pours some on generously – the image of that fleshlight seared in her memory. She’s expecting Rio to laugh, to make another lewd joke, or comment patronisingly in the way that Dean would, only - - only suddenly his hand is held out in front of her, palm up.

“Gimme some of that,” he tells her, and she blinks over at him, surprised, but squirts a bit of sanitiser in his hands too, watching as he methodically cleans his own hands too, taking them almost up to the elbows and she watches his fingers move and thinks of them inside her and god, that’s embarrassing, but then - - _worse_ \- - she thinks of how they’d felt around her wrist, and then entwined in her own fingers, the feel of his knuckles beneath the pad of her thumb, and she’s on the beach again, in the surf, and he’s holding onto her as the waves lap at their bare skin and his hot mouth is on her neck, in her hair, just like in the bathroom, only now they have all the time in the world and just - -

The car purrs to life beneath her, and Beth crosses her legs.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Fall Out Boy song of the same name.


End file.
